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I'm never too old for this shit!

Chapter 2

Notes:

Soooo, seems the chapter was well enjoyed by the person who requested it, and thus I'm going to write a new chapter every now and then. I was strictly told not to stress about it, and to make it a fun ride, nothing too serious. So that's that.

Chapter Text

In one moment all I see is bright whiteness, the next it's gone and I see dancing green and yellow lights and afterimages blurring my vision in such a way that I feel dizzy, as though I'm trying to keep my balance on a trampoline while someone else is jumping on it.

While rubbing my eyes free of the bright blinking things I see, a sudden loud sound makes me flinch. It's a car horn from the sound of it, and very damned close. While pulling at the leash in my hand to get Dusty out of harm's way, I squint at my surroundings.

My vision begins to clear, and oh yeah, I'm standing on a road. In front of me is a small line of cars, and while I can't see the people inside owed to the sun glaring from behind me down on the windshields, I'm sure they are annoyed. I'd be, for sure if someone decided to stand in front of my car, blocking the way without a care in the world.

The car horn blares again, and I wince. "Sorry," I offer, waving my hand. "Sorry!"

[TUTORIAL SERVER]

[Welcome to the Tutorial]

Again with that annoying chime... Thank you, system, and fuck you too.

Once I am on the pedestrian way and the short traffic jam moved along, I get down on one knee to make sure that Dusty is all right. But my fear of seeing him confounded is, well, unfounded. He's happily panting with his tongue lolling out of his snout, a bit dirty and there are smears of red all over his fur where I touched him, but overall he seems fine.

"Good boy," I praise before getting back up, knees cracking and crunching. Dusty responds with a soft bark, making a playful jump at me.

But I ignore the invitation to play in favor of finally taking note of that one thing that should have been bothering the moment I could see clearly: every store sign, every billboard and every little text on papers and walls I can see is written in some strange script; an odd dozen of lines per single symbol. It's probably Chinese – no wait, that's Korean! Korean has more straight lines, I remember that from Wikipedia articles!

Well, I think, there's weird like fighting a skeleton in a dungeon, and then there's weird like this.

Frankly, I don't know what's more strange, but it is what it is, and I roll with the punches. I have to stay positive, and if my face has a little twitch, then I'll blame it on my exhaustion.

Re-shouldering my backpack, I cast another glance around me without discovering any more that could tell me where exactly I am. Then however I realize the pedestrians who are staring at me, some in passing, others having taken to stop where they go.

Oh, I think as I realize that I must still be bloodied from my most recent encounter, and most probably altogether look like I was put through the ringer, and that is speaking aside of my general getup. I expect, to them I looked like as though Indie Jones was a construction worker, or is it the other way around? Whatever, not important. I'm drawing eyes, and there are bewildered frowns and pointed fingers.

Before I can decide in which direction to make my escape from the stares, I am approached by a teenager; his right arm, wrapped in cast and bandages is jutting out from underneath his unbuttoned shirt, revealing pale skin stretching tight over muscles. Skinny fit is the term that would describe him best, I guess, or as my grandmother used to say: underfed.

He comes to a halt before me, eyes open wide as he sees me up close.

I'm not quite sure what to say, because clearly he's expecting something, but there's no need to haw and hem, as Dusty yips a friendly bark and the young man standing before me breaks out of his observation.

"Hello Mister," he says with a barely there accent.

Right as he begins to speak, one of those accursed popups appears in my field of vision, blocking my sight and stealing my attention from whatever else the young man was saying; I might be looking a bit cross-eyed, as well, I think.

[Tutorial: Please note that should your health drop to zero, the Tutorial ends.]

So... then I go back, right? Confirmation please?

[Tutorial: Even a prodigy starts out like a common novice.]

Well.. that's no confirmation. No dying then, wasn't planning to, anyway.

[Tutorial: Please say open [Menu].]

The third of the popups blinks insistently at me, but no, I can't be arsed to do that now, standing here in public, even if this is some sort of other world, or server, or whatever.

I blink and the information disappears, though it's still lurking up there, in the corner of my peripheral vision like an especially fiendish mosquito, waiting for me to let down my guard.

The young man is waiting for an answer, I realize, but luckily Dusty reacts before I can, giving a low woof, sniffing and wagging his tail as he scoots as close to the young man as he can without leaving my side, his butt still firmly planted on the ground.

Cottoning on to the fact that my best friend is a bit of an attention hog-dog (hehe), the – and I really need to get more creative with naming people – young man bends down and holds his hand out for Dusty to sniff as he speaks in his native tongue, voice pitching high as he then proceeds to pet him.

"Ah," I say smartly, scratching at my dirty, bruised cheek. "Yeah, hi there."

Getting up from his squat, the young man has a slight flush of red creep into his face. "Are you all right?" He gestures to my face, face crunching up in concentration as he articulates himself in English. "Do you need help? Ambulance?"

As I give my reply, that no I do not need an ambulance, but his help is appreciated and I'd like to ask for directions to a motel, thankyouverymuch, a veritable holler drowns me out.

The young man seizes up with a jolt and glances over his shoulder. A lone drop of sweat seems to suddenly run down the side of his head. All right then, comic-physics, all right.

Another young man comes running toward him, covering the distance between where he emerged from around a corner and us in a surprising burst of speed. He begins to tear into the young man in front of me with a certain type of exasperation, from the synergy between them, and the gestures and such, not that I'm actually understanding, mind you —

[Tutorial: Translation available. Please say open [Menu].

I breathe out my sigh of resignation and mumble the keyphrase while nobody seems to be paying any particular attention to myself, but rather to the energetic teenager couple before me.

A feeling reminding of the sound I remember dropping metal cutlery into an expensive porcelain bowl makes echoes in my mind as the popup clears away and the [Menu] appears.

It's a very traditional, simplistic menu, listing the greyed out options [Logout] and [Server Selection], and the regular options [Settings], [Store] and [Skills]. It irks be a bit that the settings aren't in in their traditional order, but there's nothing I can do about that, and let's not even talk about what the heck Logout means, all right?

I ignore any other popup that appears and quickly open [Settings], followed by [General] and there, after some skimming over the few options available, find what I am looking for.

Once enabled, I blink the [Menu] away, and notice how a black text begins to pool into my vision like ink moves in water. It wavers, moves, ebbs and flows, and then forms actual letters that I can read, changing as quickly as the young woman in front of me is speaking.

Just as I begin to get a grasp on the ongoing conversation, Dusty seems to have decided that he went for long enough without any attention from any of the people present, prodding my hand with his wet snout.

Absently, I pet his head and try to keep up with the subtitles just as a new popup appears.

[Tutorial: Class Introduction.]

Oh c'mon! Let me focus here, yeah? What did it read? A gang? What culture? Either the translation is on par with Google Machine Translations, or I'm missing a lot of context here. Okay, whatever, let's just go with the flow.

Slightly more agitated than before, the young man gestures to me with his healthy arm.

"See Jang? He's a tourist, and hurt! I couldn't just —"

The other young man rubs a hand down his face, sighing as he interrupts. "Yes Lee Shi-Wun, you couldn't just let him be."

Names! Hah, but... no idea how to pronounce them. Their chat is a bit too fast for me to parse out words in relation to what I'm reading.

I sigh audibly as I rub at my head, drawing both their eyes to me. I gesture, one hand holding the leash, the other a bit red and wet. "I'm fine, mostly. Could you just call me a taxi, or show me to the next hotel?" I say and realize that I don't exactly inspire confidence with my words, while I'm apparently leaking blood, still.

They share a look that probably carries an unspoken conversation that I'm too foreign to grasp, but probably boils down to "Aight? Aight! Let's help that idiot foreigner" and nod, though one more reluctantly than the other.

Small victories, and all that.

"This way Mister," the one I can now identify as Lee Shi-Wun says, gesturing with his hand down the sidewalk.

I nod, saying, "C'mon Dusty, we got places to be."

As I am led through a small mace of pretty neat roads, alleys and whatnot, finding myself impressed with the cleanliness and immaculacy of the constructions, that line of thinking leads me back to questions like Where Am I? and What the fuck?!. Mostly the latter, though.

While I rubberneck like a tourist (and in all fairness, I am one), which my two companions do take duly note of, I can see their glances, their awkward and hushed bursts of whispers. The translation doesn't fail me either. I'd be suspicious of myself too, if I wasn't me. But thank fuck I'm me.

As we walk, passing by an odd dozen of food stalls, and probably the ninth store selling all kinds of probably super sugary drinks, I'm suddenly very aware of my own hunger and thirst, and Dusty too, if his longing look to a bowl of water placed before a 7-Eleven is any indication.

Might as well, no?

"Err, lads?" I say smartly, causing my companions to look at me. "Mind if we have a quick stop over there? Dusty — " I receive confused looks "— that's my dog, by the way. He's thirsty."

They look at each other, one shrugging, the other nodding.

"Won't take a minute," I promise, gesturing toward the store.

Upon arriving, Dusty remembers his training; he glances up at me, and I give him the go. Promptly he begins to lap up the water from the bowl with cute little black & white doggos on it. Same as my ol' buddy.

The taller – Jang, I remind myself – of the two stays with me as Lee Shi-Wun disappears inside the 7-Eleven. I take the chance to pull the (now slightly dented) camping bottle out my backpack, quenching my own thirst with a few measured gulps.

"Where from?" Jang asks, trying to sound friendly, but his constipated look doesn't really hold up to that attitude.

"I'm from Germany," I reply, scratching at my bloody cheek. "Though I lived and worked in the Netherlands for a while, too."

"Oh! Germany?!" Jang gushed, suddenly excited. "I like German car!"

That startles a small smile out of me as I glance at my hand, where dried flakes of blood cling to my fingers. Urgh. Come on here Dusty, let me pet you a bit —

We continue our stilted conversation with the topics lingering mostly around cars, and though I can't put much claim into being very knowledgeable on the topic, I at least can confirm that indeed, German Autobahn has (for the most part) no speed limit, and there's options for renting fast cars just for tourists.

A few minutes (at most!) later, Lee Shi-Wun returns. He's holding a small plastic bag, raising it towards us as he walks over.

"For you Mister," he says then, holding it out to me.

Man shucks, he's got me there. I rather dislike receiving benefactions, gifts, presents or whatever else you would like to call it. It makes me feel uneasy, partially because I don't know what I did to deserve it, because I think I need to earn such positive attention, and partially because I'm highly suspicious of people acting out of pure goodwill.

I know, it's a terrible trait, and expecting evil intentions to lurk around every corner, and in every person can only lead to burning bridges and becoming a social recluse, but it's so damn hard to unlearn.

Awkwardly, I receive the bag and glimpse inside. There are two packs of what I think are tissues, though one is sealed, and a small bottle of sanitizer, from the looks of it.

Dang, kid. Way to be generous to a stranger.

"Thank you," I say, forcing myself to be the grown-up I ought to be —

Suddenly another teenager comes running; he's wearing a black and white tracksuit with stripes … I don't know, and I am not saying this with a racist intention, but he reminds me of those Slavs in their Adidas training suits. He's got a badly shaven head, and the attitude of one of these gopnik, my mind somehow tries to relate him to. Guess it makes sense, he'd just need a large plastic bottle or can of beer and he'd fight right in!

He comes to a halt before us, breathing somewhat hard from his run. But that doesn't stop him from pointing his finger at Lee Shi-Wun and shouting.

"There you are, bastard! I thought you already left!"

Lee Shi-Wun's eyes went wide.

"It's him," exclaimed Jang, finger pointing at the new arrival. "He's the one that attacked our school's best fighter!"

"What?"

A strange, almost mocking laugh leaves the new arrival before he smirks. "Long time no see. I heard a funny story. You are supposed to be the former disciple of our Master."

I miss part of the conversation that follows as I stow the contents of the bag I was gifted in my backpack; though what turns out to be wet wipes, I keep on hand. Can't just walk around looking like I went twelve rounds with a pack of sandpaper, now, can I?

The conversation is still heated and I feel it's not my place to interfere in their teenage quarrel; looking up just in time to catch the latest translation before it dissolves back into swirly-swirls of ink, I see figurative shit hit the figurative fan.

"I've been waiting to pay you back for last time for a long while now!"

Lee Shi-Wun sizes up at that exclamation.

"Don't worry! If you die, I'll take good care of that girlfriend of yours," says the gopnik, taunt evident in the wording. "I'll show it to you too... The punch that I learned from Master!"

"He won't fight you!" interjects Jang. "His arm is broken! He won't be your opponent at all! Besides, are you crazy? There's a foreigner watching!"

But Lee Shi-Wun, looking quite serious suddenly, speaks over his friend. "Whatever happens, Chang-Ho, I will never be afraid of you again!"

Oh boy, suddenly the thin, stick-in-the-wind kid gives off maincharacter vibes!

The figurative fan spins and spins, and round it goes, and the shit is flung and —

The gopnik explodes forward, arm drawn back and fist balled, and within a heartbeat he's past Jang and about to hit Lee Shi-Wun.

It's an amateur move, even I can tell as much with my limited experience from dungeon delving and adventuring. There's so much shit that can go wrong between starting it out and feeling the skin on your knuckles connect with your target while you sock them right good. Has happened to me a few times until I learnt to stop doing it; and let me tell you, it's exceedingly awkward, getting your fists dodged by slow ass skeletons or zombies, because they got more brain than I do.

And here, too, it doesn't work: Jang, jumping into his back, pushes him away from his target.

The gopnik breaks the fall with his face, shouting bloody murder as he gets up.

"Run!" Jang yells at Lee Shi-Wun, who having the presence of mind to find objection, pointing at me, seems dead-set to slug this issue out here and now, all the while his body is looking ready to run.

"Go," I say, spurring him out of his inner conflict.

Before my young friend can object any more, I whistle and break into as fast a jog as my beaten body allows for.

The sound leaving my lips draws Dusty's attention, and seeing me move has him break into a mad dash, following after me and then with the ease of a Border Collie, past me until he settles between me and my two young friends.

Frankly speaking, I have no idea what exactly is going on here, and why apparently it seems acceptable to this gopnik to have a fight in daylight AND public, but hey, maybe that's just me being an old-ass man in a foreign country. In my youth, we duked out our problems after school, and shook hands afterwards, no hard feelings.

There's some shouting going on between Jang & Lee Shi-Wun, but my multi-tasking isn't exactly all that great, so I miss most of the context, but that isn't exactly all that important, because as we turn out of the backstreet with the 7-Eleven in it, into a wider street with cars parked on both sides and electronic advertising panels in front of stores every now and then, something draws my eyes: a bunch of guys, wearing full body skeleton jumpsuits.

Now that ain't all that normal, either!

Jang and Lee Shi-Wun slow down, having spotted them as well.

"Ah~~ now I remember you!" I read just as a voice speaks up from behind us.

Turning his head, I see Jang sweating bullets as he states the obvious. "Shit, we're surrounded."

"You are the bastard who was butting in last time. You and that other bastard. I wanted to beat the shit out of both you ever since." The gopnik laughs his strange laugh. "No matter, I'll get him next."

I'm a bit startled by the rash reaction this draws from Jang, who, suddenly full of fire, draws himself up in clear outrage as he speaks. "The fuck, man?! Do you even know who you are talking about?! He's Chundomoon's successor, Hyuk So-Chun!"

Whatever have I stumbled into here? Honestly, put me into a dungeon any time, face off against the undead, raid ancient tombs and whatnot, I don't mind. But this here? Teenage drama? Fuck that noise.

"Blah blah blah," the gopnik finally says, and lurches forward.

His strike is as predictable as the first one, and Jang blocks it with his bag, no issues.

"I'm sorry Mister," says Lee Shi-Wun from the side. "I'm sorry I dragged you into this. Please leave. I will take responsibility."

I sigh. "Kid," I say, "I don't even know what the heck is going on. But that isn't important right now —"

Before I can fabulate anything else, I see my curious dog attempt to take a whiff of our attacker. Slapping my thigh hard, I give a sharp whistle. "Heel, Dusty!"

My call draws the attention of the Slav while Dusty hurries to obey my command as I trained him to do. He lets off from Jang, who takes the opportunity to gain distance, looks at me, then at my dog and grins. It's a cruel rictus that leaves no room to guess as to the why.

What follows, happens in a drawn out manner; the way his torso moves: arms and shoulders shifting with the movement of his hips as his leg is drawn back —

A popup appears as I realize what he's about to do.

[Tutorial: Class Introduction — Skills, Tutorial Mode]

"No," a growl escapes me. "No, you fucking don't."

[Tutorial: Skill demonstration commences automatically in combat situation.]

With speed belying my age, and sudden power and velocity not trained for, my body surges forward and covers the distance between us in the brief moment it takes him to aim his kick at my bolting dog.

"Mister?!"

The Slav's eyes get wide when I'm suddenly in his face; but no matter how much I feel the need to drive my fist into his face for the mere attempt at hurting Dusty and to show him what a solid punch means, my body won't obey.

Instead, my hands straighten before taking position in an defensive way before me, and my body takes a step forward. Before I can grasp what's happening, the sole of my working boots pushes down on the kick and my hands move forward, giving a mighty push with the flat of their palms.

Being probably about as surprised as I am, the Slav doesn't react. He's pushed back, arms rowing for purchase, stumbling and finally falling onto his ass with enough oomph behind that he's gonna feel that for the next couple weeks whenever he wants to sit down.

I blink away three popups detailing the skills that were used and stare down at my hands as though seeing them for the first time. What the fuck's going on? I totally lost control over my body to —

Catching a glimpse of movement I realize that this ain't the place to think heavy thoughts.

For a second I entertain the thought of making myself scarce, but then I think better. This little shitstain almost kicked my beloved dog — my best fucking friend. No fucking way.

I take a step toward him and feel a certain amount of satisfaction upon seeing him look wary.

Squatting down, I point at him. "Never try to touch my dog again. Capiche? Or I'll make you wish you wore diapers that day!"

No idea whether he's got the message, but for his sake, I hope it.

"Mister!"

Doing a dumb thing, I glance over my shoulder to see Lee Shi-Wun running toward us.

I see his eyes widen; then, in a blitz of movement that makes it look as though he disappeared for a brief moment, he's next to me and his fist connects solidly with the Slav's head, sending him tumbling.

"Coward wanted to kick you!" Lee Shi-Wun declares, sweat pearling down his face.

He curses in his native tongue upon seeing the skeleton jumpsuits sprinting towards us. "Shit!"

Thanks translation.

"Sorry Mister!"

And off he runs.

"Hold it right there, you bastard!"

The gopnik, looking dazed, is standing. After shaking his head he takes chase.

"Oi!" yells Jang from behind me as the skeleton band hauls ass after Lee Shi-Wun; I can feel their eyes on me as they pass us by, and I bet they'd enjoy nothing more than to throw fists too. But they don't.

Man, for real. What the fuck? I'm missing so much of what's going on here. This isn't even funny anymore.

I whistle, claws click on asphalt and a few moments later Dusty appears next to me.

That's when I finally take note of the pain I'm in. A glance at my health bar shows that I lost a few percent, but nothing major. Yeah, no. Whatever. I won't even try to make sense of this. Tutorial my ass. Nothing is explained! Nothing!

"Hey Jang?" I say, and wince as I try to take a step.

He looks at me, sweaty and probably equally as fed up with today as I am.

"I think I'd prefer a hospital over a hotel now."

He nods but then looks at me shwredly. "You moorim?"

Translation, please?